Page 95 of Hotter in the Hamptons

She didn’t even realize that tears were pouring down her face until they hit her bare knees.

She’d waited so long to hear him say these words. She hadn’t thought she ever would. And now here he was, asking for her back.

He reached out and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.

Just like he used to.

Like he’d never left.

“Justin,” she said. Her voice caught in her throat. His hand lingered at her face, and she pressed her cheek into it, catlike.

Then he pulled her onto his lap like she weighed nothing. She curled into him.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, holding her tightly. He was crying too. “I can’t lose you. I can’t.”

He smelled like himself—like sandalwood and amber and sweat.

But she couldn’t bring herself to offer him words of comfort in return. Despite how good it felt to be held by him, she didn’t know what she wanted anymore.

This was a world she could slide back into. She could see it all so clearly, how they’d simply go back to Soho and pick up where they’d left off.

But she wasn’t sure she wanted to be that girl again—the girl out partying at vapid brand events while her partner saved lives at the hospital. The girl who had racks and racks of gifted PR products that didn’t even mean anything. The girl who never had a scathing article written about her, who never met Aly at all.

And what would it mean for Aly?

Or was Aly already gone, spooked by the specter of Lola’s heterosexuality?

Lola nestled deeper into Justin, where she was safe from thoughts of the girl next door.

“Do you mind if I stay here tonight?” he asked. “I know it was shortsighted, but I didn’t really make a plan for what to do once I got here.”

“Of course.” She nodded. “Do you mind sleeping in one of the other guest rooms, though?”

He looked pained. “Yeah, that’s fine. I have no expectations,” he said, as though he could hear her confusion.

She hoped this was true as she led him upstairs.

While he was in the bathroom, Lola sat on the bed and checked her phone.

She had a text from Aly.

She held her breath while she opened it.

The worst part is that I’m not surprised.

There were a thousand meanings layered into that one sentence.Fucking writers, she thought, her stomach seizing up with too much wine and not enough food. She wondered briefly if she was about to throw up. It felt possible.

Justin emerged and assessed the look on her face. He still knew her so well. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

Lola knew this was her chance to tell him about Aly, who she really was and who she’d become to her, but she still couldn’t. She wasn’t sure how he’d react, and beyond that, she wasn’t sure howshe’dreact to his reaction.

“Nothing,” she said. She placed her phone upside down on the nightstand and tried to put Aly out of her mind.

He tugged his shirt off and then dug around in his backpack for a clean one. “I’m sorry if I stink,” he said.

“You never stink,” she replied. “Don’t worry about a shirt.”

She lay down on top of the blankets, and he lay next to her, her in her damp dress and him in just his sweatpants.

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